Debt
by Broseph13
Summary: A farmer finds himself in the debt of the god of death, and must find his way to fulfill it, or to escape his painful grasp...


**Chapter 1: Of finding that of which was Lost…**

The first warm rays of dawn peeked through the window of the abode. It shined upon a sand floor, of which many boot prints replayed a recent history of commotion in the room. The walls of the hut itself were made of clay, and were obviously beaten by natural wear. Small chunks were scattered across the floor, but most were sweeped up into neat piles. A ragged, straw bed lay in the room, resting against the wall. Upon it was a man covered by an olive green quilt.

The man was of an average size, around 5'9". He had a handsome face, with softened cheeks. His jaw was angled, and had a point at the end. His eyes were a brilliant blue, so deep that you could swear you saw the ocean in its reflection. He looked an age of at least 23, and clearly still held his youth strong. He had faint stubble across his chin, with his thick brow knit in a tight frown.

His mouth flew open, and uttered a terrible cry. It sounded like a mix of complete terror and desperation, mingled with horror. His eyes told a story that would make any man shudder. The man soon recovered himself and stopped staring and gaping at the wall opposite to the bed. He brushed through his jet-black hair, hoping that his fitful slumber didn't disturb it. He hoped wrong.

The man slipped from the tight motherly grasp of the quilt. He slowly stood himself up, shaking the sand from his eyes. He set his feet into his comfy but durable moccasins. The man stood up from his bed and drudged toward the door. It was set to the east in honor of his kind's belief that the true future of the world was in the direction. He opened his old wooden door, walked out, and took a lasting glance at his old house. To the side of the door was a silver plaque, with words engraved. In the language of Endori, it read "The Home of Devrick Madran". Devrick smiled at the old memories locked within the plate of metal. He turned reluctantly and jogged to check on his precious animal pens.

As he rounded the last patch of crops, Devrick saw a terrible sight. The dusty prairie ground of the cow enclosure was violently drowned in recently spilled blood. Here and there Devrick found mutilated animal parts. Foul bile rose up in his throat. As he surveyed the slaughter, he saw the shining glint of metal.

Devrick carefully walked towards the cow troughs, and bent over. He picked up a small, gore-covered trinket. Devrick wiped off the blood and skin, and observed the golden spider hanging over a sapphire carved into the green-tinged copper. He wondered, what sort of brigand would murder a cow so brutally, for it only had its worth when _alive_. Why would someone butcher it? Then a thought struck him like an arrow, straight and true. The forest goblins.

Devrick growled in anger, and stomped to his run-down shed. He opened the door to an amalgamation of rusted steel and rotted wood. Near hundreds of farm tools littered the room, creating a menacing maw of iron, of which Devrick approached with ease.

He chose from the sloppy mess a oak bow, made from the very woods he would enter. Its brother was a rough quiver filled to the brim with silver-tipped arrows. He searched around the room for an item, one of utmost importance. Devrick spotted it, pulled it from the mess, and gingerly cleaned it. It was a dagger, one passed through his line for ages. The Madrazh, or "Blade of the Madran" was made from the purest of steels, and had a green, leather hilt crafted from the true skin of a demon. This blade was once used for a great purpose, but like all blades, it had dulled. Now Devrick carried the family blade as a trinket of good luck.

Satisfied, he walked towards the looming forest before him. Its age-old name was Lurkoak. For years he had lived in fear of the dark realm. When he reached the age of 15, he lost his sister within the brambles. After, he found bones with her dress at the door, along with a stone carved with Goblin runes. Ever since, Devrick always ventured there to kill all the goblins he could find. And now, it looked like they finally took revenge.

He took off into a sprint towards the looming dark, not even taking a break. With such utter determination, he couldn't take one. Devrick continued on until he finally reached Lurkoak.

At once he could tell where the bastards went. Goblins were unruly creatures, and weren't very thoughtful. Behind they left a trail of devastation that scared most, but delighted Devrick. He slowed down, and simply jogged along the path.

After only 30 minutes he heard the goblins. He was walking at the time, tired from his mad sprinting. All of the sudden, a loud yelp sounded. One goblin must have hurt another. Then, he heard more raucous laughter, along with the sounds of steel against wood. They were near.

Maximum distance of the goblins was ½ a mile. Devrick prepared his bow and veered to the right. He quickly crept through the dense woods, and located the green monstrosities.

The small things were around 5 feet tall, with oversized limbs. Their arms reached from its shoulders down to their knees, while its legs were a mere 1 foot. The goblins' ears were long, and pointed at the end like a malformed elf. Some of their faces were pulled back in a horrible rictus, a parody of human glee. The worst feature however, was their sick, green skin. It looked as if vomit had been mixed with a rotten milk.

A pack of them rushed along the brush. 7 of them were armed with leather clothing with swords and crude, wooden shield. One though, was armed with non-goblin armor. It was steel, obviously looted. He also carried a polearm, with a horn connected to its haft. The blade was strange though. It carried a sickly glow, one that unnerved him.

Devrick felt ready. He slowly pulled a silver arrow from the quiver. He connected it shaft to the wooden bow, and pulled the string all the way back, aiming at the leader. He took a breath, and released.

The shot failed. As soon as the arrow let fly, another goblin moved into the arrows way. The silver head made a _thunk_ as it violently caved through the skull of the disgusting creature. All the others turned, saw their dead comrade, and stood motionless, scanning the woods.

Devrick shot two more arrows, freeing two more goblins to Junndis' Halls. The 5 left continued on, stopping at a glade. The woods ahead were too dense to continue. They were trapped. Devrick walked out from his hiding place.

The first goblin came at him with a charge, ending with a bow to the temple. Two others continued, one holding his attention, while the other circled. Devrick grabbed an arrow from his quiver and stabbed it into the green thing's shoulder. It squealed in pain, and backed away.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain against his back, and whirled to find a goblin's scimitar slashing madly. His old dagger met with the goblin's neck, ending his life. Another goblin attacked with a quick slash towards the neck, nearly slitting his throat. Devrick responded with another attempted stab, this one failing. The goblin sneered.

An arrow-tip erupted from the ugly face, its origin the bow in Devrick's hand. He shot another, sticking into the last scout's head. Only one remain.

The Leader of the goblins glared with unnerving hatred, and grinned in unnatural glee. Devrick smiled back. He took the initiative, shooting a quick arrow, turned off by the goblin's shield. The greenskin stabbed with the polearm, nearly cutting him. Devrick dashed close, and stabbed with his dagger. It landed home in the goblin's shield arm, but stuck there.

The creature howled in pain, and pulled it out. It gripped it, took aim, and threw it at Devrick's head. It barely missed, scraping his shoulder. He threw his head back and laughed at the unsuccessful attack, making an arrogant choice. The goblin made a quick slash, ripping the flesh of Devrick's chest.

His pain was horrible, but he had to continue. One last arrow he pulled back, and aimed straight for the exhausted goblin's forehead. Its silver tip broke skin, punched through bone, and ripped the brain, if it had one.

Devrick growled in pain, and moved to loot whatever these goblins had. _Boom_. He turned his head quickly, and stared into the tightly weaved forest. Nothing was there. He continued with his job. _Boom. Thud._ There was definitely something out there. He grabbed his bow, and prepped for an assault. _Boom. Boom. Boom._

He peered closely into the forest, and saw something strange. A dark object was moving fast towards him. He launched an arrow. After a minute, he heard an unearthly screech, and two spikes brandished in the air. The thing began to move faster.

As it got closer, it got bigger, and bigger, until he could make out a shape. He jumped back, just as a pitch-black monstrosity crashed through the trees. It had 8 eyes, all red with a bestial hate. They sat on a squat, black head, with three fanged mandibles, clenching a mangled goblin arm, about to fall into the spider's cavernous mouth. Its body was the size of a mountain boulder, with spikes and colorful paint across its abdomen. The beast's legs were like enormous, noir polearms.

Within seconds the spider loomed over Devrick, leaking venom across the ground. It leaned in close, to end the games. Devrick made his final prayers to the god of death. He was enveloped in shadow at the last word.

It felt as if he fell from the world. Devrick was unsure whether he was in terrible pain or in wonderful ecstasy. The feeling ended, as the fog cleared and a battlefield was revealed.

A brutal massacre was to behold. Thousands of men were speared on poles, stabbed with daggers, and poking with arrows. Not only men, but hundreds of elves, orcs, asruu, and other peoples lay about the plain. The closest corpse was a mannish commander, with one arm sticking up, and a single finger horizontal. A crow sat upon it.

It turned its head, crowed, and began to eye Devrick with its purple eyes. The crow opened its mouth, and said, "I have answered thy prayer, but you now owe me a debt. Falter, and I will revoke my gift to thee" in a deep, timeless voice.

The battlefield quickly moved away from Devrick, pulling him back through the shadow, and leading him to reality with a painful headache of psionic power.

He awakened, and slapped on the stone underneath him. He grabbed a ridge, and pulled himself up. Devrick stood up, and eyed the peculiar terrain. He was on the dead spider. And next to him, there was an insignia of dread. The symbol of Junndis, god of death. The crow lord.


End file.
